Eros and Thanatos

it is easier to write with an audience of one in mind. but then everything becomes a love letter.

what if i loved a thing? or a place? or an idea? hmm.

some ideas are lovely.

this city has enough secret admirers.

i like things but i dont love them. do they love me? is their love unrequited? i feel their pain, believe me. i feel the pain of things. it is but one thing that makes me different from you.

perhaps i am only a thing to the ones i love.

the idea of love is lovely. do i only love the idea of being in love?

dying is lovely, when your time has come.

the only way i can look forward to tomorrow is to think of both sleep and love as a type of death. the next day is a rebirth.

then why do i feel like a zombie most days? perhaps i dont die enough; i dont get enough death.

i know. i am obsessed with death. and i fall in love too easily.

it is still love.

it is still death.

given the right combination of time, place and circumstance, i could love you, too.

given the right (or wrong) combination of circumstance, place and time, you could die, too.

odds are in favour of death.

but keep trying to love.

...the rain drops will always ruin your dress...

So what does it mean when a person actually refuses to read a letter you wrote them? Because that's what happened. Of all things, I never expected her to refuse to read it. Well, I actually did think that might happen, but by then I had already completed my top secret mission - the letter had already been delivered, under cover of darkness (oh drama).

Funny thing is, since then I have been trying to convince her to read the damn thing, when I should have realised that the letter essentially did what it was intended to do: get us talking. After I informed Irish that the letter was waiting, she suddenly decided it was 'ominous' (literally her word to describe the letter) without reading it, and lifted her self-imposed ban on calling me. It seems to be totally abolished now. I should view the act of writing the letter not for her, but for me - to just work out my feelings on paper. It is not vital that she read it, ultimately; preferred, because I am notoriously slow at thinking on my feet, but not absolutely essential.

I am seeing her tomorrow, for the first time in a month, without being touched during that time. Oh dear god I hope I don't explode or shut down completely. Perhaps I should just ask random bittys for hugs, so that I may be properly desensitized before I meet up with Irish. There is so much pent up passion in me, and I am not talking exclusively about sex, although that is present. She makes it difficult to let it out normally, giving the impression that she will turn tail and run at the slightest display of emotionality. Being an extremely emotional person, things have been very hard for me these last few months. Tomorrow, it all comes out, all the cards are being put on the table. I can't take it anymore, and with the coming financial apocalypse, why the hell not? Love is the only thing that matters in this world, and I plan on dying a romantic fool anyway. If she doesn't like it, then so be it. She will leave, I will move on. At least I will know one way or the other, instead of this dreadful haze of uncertainty. Things might be so different between us. Things are different. The days are getting shorter. The leaves are turning, the cold is coming. The end may well be near. I still feel the same about her though.

I can write personal junk on here as long as I also have things relevant to the cafe. So, tacked on awkwardly at the end, I have info on two upcoming film screenings here. The first one is on October 9, and is called "The Other Side of the Country". It is about the decades-long civil war in Uganda that has created one of the worst humanitarian disasters of our time. Go here for the trailer. The second, screening on October 23, is called "Tibetan Refugee" (yeah, real attention-grabbing title there). It focuses on the Dalai Lama, exiled in Dharamsala, India since 1959. I think I can embed the trailer for this one:

Tibetan Refugee


So, if you are interested in this sort of stuff, you should come on down and watch a free film, learn some things. Watch me eat popcorn, maybe. And no I won't share it with you. Unless you are a certain Irish Bitty.

Tender Vittles

I wrote a love letter today. Well maybe not a love love letter, seeing as it was mostly about anguish and disappointment, but it is a letter nonetheless. The word 'love' is mentioned in various contexts, but with the intended target of this letter in mind, it is probably for the best not to call it a love letter. I had to tone down the part about my feelings for her lest she involuntarily vomit all over the planet. I did it for the good of the earth, then. Nevertheless, it is probably the final nail in the coffin, so to speak. Irish doesn't much like the idea of emotions and feelings. But I can't help it, I am an emotional guy; and a hopeless romantic, apparently. Any other bitty who would read this letter would instantly fall in love with me, and would have an insatiable compulsion to make the sex with me. But not Irish. She will either be disgusted and never speak to me again, or she will be very slightly bemused and toss the letter into the incinerator, and never speak to me again. I wonder which reaction I should hope for? I like intensity, passion. Is disgust always passionate?

Anyway, the real reason I am posting is because I have more information about Nuit Blanche here at TAN Coffee. In addition to me being there (what more reason do you need blah blah blah), a number of Fair Trade groups and vendors will be peddling their ethical goods here, there will be henna painting (only on buttocks though or you are a wuss), a "private" party, short film screenings, tasty vegan vittles (not Tender Vittles for cats, although I hear they are tasty too), and, get this.... airbrushing! Now what in the hell is airbrushing? I am not sure, but it sounds really dorky and cheesy and tacky and not-edgy. That's right, the Boss Bitty and I do not have to agree on everything, and when I think of airbrushing I can't help but think of the 1990s and denim jackets with rhinestones on them, topped off with an airbrushed bald eagle atop a patriotic American flag background. I mean, is that not the visual you are getting? Is there something wrong with me?

I tried to get Jesi to do a "reel" (is that what it's called, you showbiz types?) here for Nuit Blanche, but she is a busybody that night, yet curiously can maybe make it to scarf our foods. Hmmm. Anyway, she can entertain me with tales of wacky escapades that happen only in her mind. Like that pulsating brain with the bloody candles on her home page. I mean, why can't she make a huge pulsating brain with bloody candles for real, and put it on our sofa, with only a couple days' notice? Can't be that difficult.

At any rate, Octoberry 4 is going to be a crazy night. Stop by and watch the slow-motion meltdown. And buy something or get out.

Lack of saliva

I just realised this morning upon waking that I have not been touched in nearly a month. Aside from being poked by the boss today (and let me tell you, I HATE being poked, it feels like being cattle prodded), not a single person has touched me. I really wish I didn't realise that, it is more than a little disheartening. I wonder if anyone else lives like this? Going to work, interacting with people in the most forced and, I feel, unnatural way, merely cogs in a huge transactive machine, then going home, being alone, avoiding roommates, avoiding eye contact, not answering the phone, only leaving your room when absolutely necessary and even then not straying too far. It is really quite remarkable the fortress I have constructed around myself. And I have the audacity to say that Irish has walls up? Well, yes. I may have built this massive fortress of solitude around myself through my awkwardness and inability to communicate, but there are always individuals that I can stand having contact with, almost as if they have the key to the fortress, and all that that implies. She is one of those individuals. But what happens is that when I throw the doors open, she turns around and walks away. The closest I have gotten to her is akin to peeking through a tiny barred window, that's all.

This is ridiculously dramatic. If I think hard enough I will remember touching and being touched; but none of that meant anything. None of it is actually memorable or substantive. Really if most people touch me it hurts, literally feels like burning or an electric shock. There are only a few who know how to touch me without eliciting a negative response, and even fewer who know without having to be instructed. Going this long without one of those people touching me scares me because when I do get touched, the intensity is nearly debilitating at times. I remember one incident maybe four or five years ago when the girlfriend was away in Europe for five weeks. I was working in the flesh department of a shitty grocery store; I hadn't been touched in a long time, it must have been just before the girlfriend was set to return. I held open a door for a co-worker, and in thanks she placed her hand gently on the middle of my back as she passed. I nearly collapsed and I had to fight the tears from blurring my vision. I ended up retiring to a dark corner to try to stop hyperventilating. And that was not even direct skin to skin contact, which is naturally more intense. That is really the only thing I remember from that time. The rest was a formless and meaningless conglomeration of seconds, minutes, hours.

Drawn and quartered on an endless chain of maybe's, I will almost always be let down. The word 'almost' was an edit; really if I keep trying there will be success. I am just easily discouraged, is all. But what is with "maybe" when you really mean "no"? I would rather have the blunt, honest answer, than be led on to nothing. I suppose I became used to the very very brief time when Irish actually behaved as if she were interested; a mercilessly brief period when she would ask if I wanted to hang out. Now its back to abnormal; I feel like I have to constantly harass her until she relents. I am too old for this stupid game, but there is something about her that won't leave me be.

Two posts with nothing about the cafe: a quick way to get fired? Well maybe if things were actually exciting here I would write about it. Why can't we have a dramatic mid-day bank robbery/bomb threat like Mercury on Queen East? All we get here is a woman demanding that I dump a heaping teaspoon of rooibos tea into her large coffee (with no tea bag - gross). Sexily exciting! So when there is nothing really new to report, what you get is me whining about being lonely even though I have spent most of my "adult" life in some form of a relationship. Stop the presses! Another miserable twenty-something!

So now to the meat of the post: movie nights are ongoing, I will post info when I get it; they are every other Thursday. Hmmm what else: we may (or may not) be doing something "special" for Nuit Blanche on Octoberry 4th. I just have to get in touch with Maria at fuzzy logic - maybe get a band or two to play here (in the cafe? on the patio? I don't know). What I am certain of is that I will be working all fucking night, just like last year. So, feel free to tell me how overrated and crowded this year's Nuit Blanche is when its all over, because I will have missed it all, being here churning out delicious lattes until the wee hours of the morn. I promise I will try not to spit in your face.*


*There will be no spitting. I was born with a genetic mutation that causes me to be unable to produce saliva. I need to be fed like a baby bird.It is, unfortunately, not cute.

Drunkster O'Houlihan

Working with the poison still coursing through your veins? Terrible. Thinking of locking the door for five minutes while I go in the back and throw up. Last night I got home and drank and drank and drank until I passed out, oblivious to the time. Since my phone died I haven't really paid attention to time; I think it must have been 2.30 or 3 by the time I laid down, I don't know. Point is, I have decided to be the biggest grumpster today, so watch out.

Have you ever fallen in love with a ghost? And you wake in the middle of the night because you think you can feel them next to you, but they are ten kilometers away, and you're pretty certain that they dont think about you as much as you them; that if you were to disappear, they would forget that you ever existed in less than a week? Me neither.

I dont really like how I have been feeling lately. For some reason my moods have been alternating between extremes, often in a matter of hours. What does that mean? That I am about to have another breakdown? Its called "rapid cycling", and apparently occurs before a major depressive episode. I could probably head it off if Irish would just show some interest in speaking to me. I haven't seen her since Labour Day. Since then I have told myself that all I need to do is picture her on that day, wearing her yellow dress, and I would smile. It actually worked for a while. That image is starting to lose its lustre, being replaced by an image of a wall - opaque, inscrutable, not giving an inch. Really I have no idea who the real Irish is. She is on a quest to reinvent herself, to distance herself as much as possible from her past. I wish I knew nothing about that time; it has only made me even more convinced that she is not who she claims to be. Does she really think that she is still being "observed"? By whom, and for what purpose? Does the trauma of her past make her less susceptible to feeling emotion? She is like a robot sometimes, at other times she appears to be caring and sensitive, yet the next time I see her she verges on cruel. Never have I fallen so hard for somebody, and never have I felt so unloved. But why should I pile all of this on her? The real question is why do I put up with it at all? I have to learn to be happy by myself, without using an entanglement as a crutch, something I have always done.

On the eighth I had drinks at 751 with acquaintances. I thought we were all having a good time, but I guess I made an ass of myself - I drank a lot of beer and whiskey (for me) and now I feel like I have been ostracized; the shine did not last long on that night. The time is nearly nigh to think about considering admitting I may potentially in the near future have a problem.

Wow. None of this is about the cafe. Quick let me think of some things. Never mind.

Yeah, I know.

Yes it has been a while. But its not like anyone actually reads this. Nevertheless, apologies for the no-updates; it was getting harder to fake being chipper and happy, even over the internets (which is a series of tubes). I promise I am all better now, until the next meltdown at least. Ha!

Yes, we are still here at 992 Queen West, bigger and better than ever. I would like to thank everyone who keeps coming back here for coffee, tea, and good times. So much easier to thank people over the internets (which is like some kind of highway of information, I'm told).

We are still having movie nights here, every second Thursday. The next one is on the 18th, it is called I Love Beijing, google it I am too lazy. I am writing this post at 8.30am after spending the night at the cafe, despite the fact that I live around the corner. I feared that I would worship the snooze button if I slept at home. The sofa is not too uncomfortable. I had a slumber party here, I baked cookies in my jammies until the wee hours. Unfortunately I did not have enough foresight to invite a certain Irish bitty, so there was nobody here with me to do my nails and talk about boys and watch horrible movies. I have really big nails, you would need to bring a bucket of polish. Still I had good times.

Some of our more astute observers may have noticed that there is a new addition to the TAN family. I apologise for keeping it a secret for so long, but I did not want to upset my family and be disowned by them. A few weeks ago I birthed a nearly fully-grown adult female and right away set her to work here. Her name is Julie and she is awesome (but don't all parents say that about their chilluns?). Some may think that she is not my progeny because she is so friendly, and they would be correct. Where am I going with this? Just make her feel welcome, but don't grab her face or anything else, k? Thx.

You ever feel nervous about making phone calls? I frequently find it difficult to call suppliers here, and I tend to procrastinate. Sometimes I have to psych myself up to call, in the way squirrels do each morning when they are looking for nuts or shiny things to hoard. "Nuts, nuts, get 'em!" I imagine they say. And then they get the nuts. Okay.

A big thanks to K McK (Princess Jasmine) for gracing us with a single appearance ever since the Craft Council-reading-this-blog fiasco. Good to see you are beginning to act like royalty (insert tongue-face emoticon here).

This entry is strange: just random thoughts and tidbits, like this: we are selling an interactive DVD board game by local heartthrobs (!) The Bicycles, and here is the trailer for it:


How much is it? Can you even put a price on so much zany fun? I forget. I will ask Maria.

They are tearing up the sidewalk again. They have actually barricaded the sidewalk right in front of the cafe, but they have assured us that people will still be able to get in and out. And there may be short-lived cuts to power and/or water. And the infernal noise. It has just commenced. The door will remain closed, the super-heavy flower pots and sandwich board will be inside for today and tomorrow, but we are still open.

I roasted my first batch of coffee a few days ago, under the watchful eye of Boss Bitty. She is in Seattle attending a superhero conference or something, and will not be back until Friday. Charles is in charge, and by Charles, I mean me. I can't wait to see the crestfallen looks on all the guys' faces when they come in the morning expecting to see M. and find me instead, grumpy, uncommunicative and disheveled. Ha! Really though, are you coming here for the coffee and atmosphere, or just to ogle my babe of a boss? Really. While she is away I may have to roast coffee if we sell "too much". I am a little apprehensive about that, but I have gone through the steps many times in my head, so failure is not an option. Failure meaning an all-consuming inferno of death and mayhem of course. Really everything should be fine, just don't ask me any questions about anything, ever.

I hope this post means that I will keep on with this, even though we now have a real website with a "real" blog; just means that this one may become even more personal and creepy and dark (ooooo oo). A disclosure: I probably have bipolar disorder, and I am supposed to be getting help with that, considering it can destroy a person's life and all. But when I am in a manic state, I don't really feel like there is a problem; its the depression part that has recently become crippling. Lately I have become more aware of potential triggers and have tried to cope with them before they send me into the abyss. Anyway, the point is that if I get more personal, rather than censoring myself (which I have mostly been doing up until now) this blog may become incredibly awesome, or unremittingly terrible. Maybe I will put my "writing" up on here if there is nothing else to contribute. Wait. I already said "unremittingly terrible" didn't I? O snap.